Flamenco
by la Domkova
Summary: Dancing flamenco on the Common Room’s table was her way to celebrate her House’s victory, a show able to bring the Slytherin boys’ euphoria to orgasmic levels, and Rabastan knew that quite well.


Note: I hope you'll forgive my sucking Spanish, but since I've never sturied/learned/whatever the language, i had been forces to do something I hate: using the Google online translation

**.: ° :. .: ° :. .: ° :. .: ° :. .: ° :. .: ° :. .: ° :. .: ° :.**

**.: Flamenco :.**

**T**he hands beat the melody's rhythm, enthralled by the neat tapping on the mary janes on the walnut wood table; the uniform's skirt rose, showing two perfect legs and letting you glimpse the underwear's black lace: Lucia Madrilena de Fuentes y Mendoza was a born seductress.

Dancing flamenco on the Common Room's table was her way to celebrate her House's victory, a show able to bring the Slytherin boys' euphoria to orgasmic levels, and Rabastan knew that quite well. His eyes followed the girl's movements, as he brought to his lips a goblet filled with Evan Rosier's wine: it was impossible to not find señorita Madrilena tempting, with those sensual ways of her. There were a lot of rumours about the Slytherin girl, just like there were a lot of boys who boasted a night with her at the Astronomy Tower. Rabastan chuckled, he knew that very few people enjoined the favour of señorita Madrilena, and these chosen ones had three common denominator: attractiveness, richness and Purebloodness.

Madrilena jumped gracefully from the table and approached the young Lestrange boy, following the rhythm and looking at him coquettishly, her lips covered with lipstick curled in a sensual smile. Rabastan felt like constrained in his Quiddich robes.

"Un beso para el capitàn," she said huskily, leaning on him and pressing her lips on his.

That was only the third time Madrilena kissed Rabastan, kisses as long as a fluttering of eyelashes but able to make you feel as if a cauldron was boiling in your insides. This time he didn't want to be satisfied by a fluttering of eyelashes, after all he deserved it, the Quiddich final had been so hard! As he felt her lips parting from his, Rabastan stood up and pressed his free hand on her nape, prolonging and deepening the kiss: he heard someone whistling, but it didn't matter.

Suddenly a sharp pain, the ferruginous taste of blood: Rabastan cursed, touching his lip and feeling the cut burn. Someone laughed, remembering that Madrilena was always the one in charge in such games.

And Madrilena danced, teasing the older boys and not letting be touched: with a pirouette she glanced Rabastan, smiling asymmetrically. Was it a threat or a promise?

.: ° :.

The nail sank in the flesh, tearing it: they were deep scratches that would scar his back and Rabastan didn't know if he would be proud of them. But it didn't matter if it was señorita Madrilena to scar him.

"¿Qué usted sabe sobre Lord Voldemort?" suddenly the girl moaned.

"You're out of topic," he panted. "And stop speaking Spanish…"

"No es mi fault, para mi es impossible speak inglés in moments… like this," she said, emitting a sound between a moan and a chuckle.

Dear gods and goddesses, that accent of her was like petrol poured on a fire! As if she knew what he was thinking, Madrilena made him turn on his back, saddling him: after all she was the one in charge.

"¿Qué usted sabe sobre Lord Voldemort?" she asked again, moving extremely slowly.

Rabastan hissed and tried to turn back in the previous position. "He's… a powerful wizard… with interesting ideas…" he said at last, hoping that answer would satisfy the girl.

"And…?"

"_And_ what? There's nothing else to s-" The sentence was lost in a low groan.

"You're not in the position to do as you please, Rabastan," whispered Madrilena, with a pleased smile on her lips. "All you have to do is reply to my questions, and I won't leave you unsatisfied."

Rabastan could to nothing but agree to the witch's request: he told her what he knew, about his father's memories, about the Dark Lord's interest for Rodolphus and his wife. He told her even what he thought about him.

"I find as well his ideas… interesting," Madrilena admitted at last, leaning on him and kissing him sensually. "Now, satisfy me completely."

.: ° :.

**T**he wizard was nervous as he watched the show offered by the Magical Spanish Consulate, his eyes fixed a dancer in red and with honey hair adorned with roses. Rabastan looked at his watch: the potion's effect would wear off within a quarter of hour and the Death Eaters infiltrated into the party would be exposed. It had been a game for Madrilena to take one of the dancers' place and do the most dangerous work: elude the Aurors, approach the Minister and the Consuls and kill them.

Rabastan had always known that Madrilena would become one of the Dark Lord's followers: after all she was the witch who had taken the income from her mother, guilty to marry a Mudblood in second marriage. Sure, she wasn't an exceptional witch, she was good in Potions and Transfiguration, but she had other qualities the Dark Lord valued, and she had been so able to climb the Death Eater hierarchy and become a Black Cloak.

Rabastan glanced at a waiter, nodding slightly: the latter pretended to stumble, making fall his tray on the marble floor and breaking the crystal glasses. A woman, wrapped in a red dress robe with golden embroideries cursed aloud, attracting the other people's attention. The dancer approached the Minister, and when she saw the Aurors turn to see what was going on, she took her wand swirling. "_Avada Kedavra_!" and without stopping to dance, she pointed her wad to the German Consul. "_Avada Kedavra_!" she said again.

Mayhem reigned in the hall, the people tried to run away screaming hysterically, the Aurors didn't knew who were the Death Eaters and three of them attacked the dancer. Rabastan held his breath, fearing for his raid mate: Madrilena duelled following the enchanted guitars' rhythm, and with a graceful movement she seized one of the Aurors, using him as a shield.

"_Obscuro_!" yelled the woman in red and gold, and darkness fell upon the room.

Rabastan undid the spell on his robes and in the darkness he put his mask.

"_Lumos_!" exclaimed several Aurors, trying to fight the darkness as well: the Death Eaters had exposed themselves at last, their black cloaks billowed around them, their white masks hid their faces distorted by heat and the sadistic pleasure of killing. Two Death Eaters covered Madrilena, whom was after the Spanish Consul, her last killing of the day. Rabastan avoided a curse, nodding to his brother to let him know he was going to help Madrilena.

The marble staircase seemed endless, and Rabastan found her on the balcony, her clothes still untransfigurated and the mask in her hands: showing her face to her victim was a habit of her. Madrilena walked toward the Consul, that tempting smile of hers on her lips: the wizard fixed her, his hand clenched around his wand trembled and he was unable to utter a word. She touched his face, tilting sensually her head as he stammered something wide-eyed, and Madrilena kissed him.

Rabastan bit his tongue as her saw the Aurors on the stairs. "Hurry up, they're coming!" the Death Eater hissed, getting ready to fight.

Multicoloured sparkles spurted from their wands, both the Aurors and the Death Eater were fighting hard: Rabastan couldn't face them alone, in a moment like that Madrilena couldn't indulge in her favourite way of killing! The wizard hissed as a curse cut his arm.

"_Stupefy_!"

And everything went blank.

.: ° :.

**W**hen he regained consciousness, in the safety of his own bed, Bellatrix told him how Madrilena had died honourably on the battlefield. Rabastan listened the tale without utter a word; then the witch squeezed his hand and said. "Did you love her?"

_Did I love her?_ It was what the younger of the Lestrange brothers asked himself in those days: he had tried to picture how would have been his life if señorita Madrilena was alive and… he didn't see neither a wedding nor children, but only the Black Cloaks' meetings and the passion she gave him every now and then. Did he love Madrilena? He didn't know.

No, he didn't love her but perhaps, in his schooldays, he had a crush for her without realizing it. And he saw again the image of a girl celebrating their House's victory dancing flamenco on the Common Room's table.

.: END :.


End file.
